So it's nine o'clock on a Saturday night and I'm on the roof of a friend's condo with half a dozen other people. Earlier in the day he'd dragged his telescope up, and now we're failing to see Shoemaker-Levy smash into Jupiter and eating popsicles.

I don't really have a story to tell here. I just wanted to make sure you know that I don't spend every weekend organizing my cereal.